


Feeling Good

by Xie



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 18:52:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1658792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xie/pseuds/Xie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time there was an icon of Brian at Babylon. I commented that it looked to me like Brian was figure skating, and an amusing discussion ensued in which it was generally agreed that any fic in which Brian was a figure skater would have to be crack.</p>
<p>An opinion I shared, but my muses, it appears, did not. They seized my keyboard and typed the fateful words, "I can write that." And thus this fic was born. A non-cracky AU in which Brian Kinney is a figure skater.</p>
<p>I normally let my stories stand for themselves, but in this case I want to warn all the figure skating fangirls out there that I do not write real person fic. There will be no overt or hidden "real people" in this story. Don't try to figure out who anyone is supposed to be, or what famous competitions these are. This story is set in a world in which none of the Olympics or other other competitions that we know took place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feeling Good

Feeling Good   
By Xie 

Brian jammed the thin pillow on Michael's bed more firmly behind his neck, and handed him the joint. "Forget it. I'm not going to enter some figure skating competition like some pansy-ass faggot." 

Michael grinned at him as he put the joint to his lips. "But you _are_ a pansy-ass faggot." Then he took a long drag on the joint. 

Brian rolled his eyes and snatched the joint back. "That's it. You're cut off." 

"Are you denying it?" Michael's voice was squeaky with smoke. 

Brian frowned at his best friend. "Fuck you." 

Pot smoke escaped from Michael's mouth as he giggled. "Fucking me would only confirm it." 

Brian hit him on the thigh. 

"Hey!" Michael rubbed the spot through his jeans. "Fuck you!" 

Brian stood up. "I'm playing hockey this season, anyway. I can't do both." 

Michael looked at him. "Because if you play hockey, your father won't think you're a pansy-ass faggot?" 

Brian picked his backpack up off the floor, and walked out the bedroom door. 

Michael lay staring at the ceiling, frowning. 

_Seven years later…_

The edge of Brian's skate sent a spray of ice onto the black rubber flooring at the edge of the rink and over his coach's brown fleece-lined boots. 

Jennifer Taylor ignored it. "Is there some reason you stepped out of that triple that should have been a quad? Pulled groin muscle? Temporary amnesia?" 

Brian stuck his tongue in his cheek. "I thought I should save something for the competition." 

She gave him a dry look. "I told you to run through your long program like it _was_ competition, so I could evaluate the choreography while Cynthia still has time to change it." 

Brian started to argue, but the memory of a recent battle of wills in which he, inexplicably, emerged the loser stopped him. He gave a sharp jerk of his chin and skated back to the center of the ice, waiting for his music. 

He stood there in the silence, one arm stretched palm-up over his head, the other behind his neck, fingers splayed across his bicep, head down. 

_Birds flying high...  
You know how I feel   
Reeds drifting by...   
You know how I feel..._

The first time he'd played the song for Jennifer, she'd raised an eyebrow. "Nina Simone? Not your usual hard rock... oh." The drums had cut in. 

Brian had just shrugged. "Something Carlos came up with for me." 

The night he'd discovered the song had been rainy, and the dance floor at Babylon was almost empty. Brian had gone into the DJ booth, glitter dusting his damp hair. 

"Hey," Carlos had said to him. "I have something for you." 

He'd tossed him a CD, and Brian squatted next to the player on the bottom rack, plugging in the headset then hitting "play." 

He'd listened all the way to the end, then shook his head. "Too short. But..." 

"I thought we could mix it with the Muse version...." 

They'd spent weeks working on it: the long slow a capella lead-in by Simone, crashing into the drum-heavy Muse version, fading back out to her wailing vocal and Broadway-tinged accompaniment, then back to the rollicking percussion of the re-make. And ending with Matthew Bellamy's falsetto fading into Simone's throaty contralto. 

"That's it," Brian had told Carlos. 

Cynthia had loved it, and other than a motionless pose held for a four-count when the unaccompanied vocal started, she'd told him to skate through the intro. Which he did that morning for Jennifer, running through his long program as if a hundred judges were watching. 

The air felt cold on his bare arms and throat as he fisted his hands and jammed his toe picks into the ice, knees bent. Then he hurtled himself into a triple axel, then a flying spin and a quad toe-triple toe-triple loop that left him dizzy. 

He landed everything. He landed his last quad, then skated backwards around the rink to build up some speed for the final triple lutz, so late in the program no one was ever expecting it. Then one last spin as the strange mash-up of Bellamy's and Simone's voices faded into nothingness and left him kneeling on the ice. 

He skated over to Jennifer, breathing hard. 

Jennifer just looked at him for a moment, then nodded. "I don't think we'll make any changes," was all she said. 

Brian was breathing too hard to do more than huff a laugh. He grabbed a towel off the back of the half-wall, and headed for the changing room. As he passed the benches, he saw a guy with an open sketchbook in his lap. 

The kid looked up. "Hey."

Brian stopped. He figured this was Jennifer's son; she'd mentioned he was coming to live with her, but he couldn't remember his name. "Hey." 

Brian saw something flash across the kid's face that he couldn't quite read, but he just nodded at the sketchbook. "Did you capture my enduring grace and athleticism in all their glory, or are you just doodling?" 

He looked at Brian measuringly, angling the sketch pad so he couldn't see it. "I captured your ass hitting the ice, although I'm not quite sure it was in any amount of glory." And then he flashed an insincere smile. 

Brian had to laugh. "I only fell once, and no one was here yet." 

The smile turned real. "Consider it a work of the imagination." 

There was room on the bench next to him, and Brian sat down. "Show me." 

His face flushed, and he snapped the book shut. "It's not finished." 

Brian felt his lower lip turn in, and nodded. "I'm Brian." 

Justin glanced at him. "Justin." 

Brian shifted so their thighs were pressed together on the bench, and smiled. "Well..." 

Justin blushed, but he looked Brian right in the eye. "Yeah?" 

Brian leaned in a little closer. "I guess I should go... " 

Justin shrugged, and looked back at his sketchbook. Brian got up and headed for the locker room.   
___________________________ 

Jennifer didn't say anything at dinner. She didn't say anything when she came out into the living room where Justin was staring at the television. She just sat down and watched with him. 

But when the show was over, she picked up the remote and turned off the TV. "Justin," she began. 

He looked at her, waiting. 

"I saw you talking to Brian this morning." 

Justin didn't know why he tensed up; he just did. "He assumed I was sketching him." 

He'd managed to distract her. "Were you?" 

Justin shrugged. "Not really." 

She looked perplexed at that, but she went on. "I just think it would be for the best if you... minimized your contact with Brian." She paused. "He can be somewhat... difficult." 

"Like this conversation?" Justin stood up. "I'm going to bed." 

"Justin." Jennifer stood up, too. "I just want you to be happy. I don't want you to get hurt." 

He gave a bitter laugh. "A little late for that. And it's Chris Hobbes you needed to tell, not me." 

She flinched. "It's just that you've made so much progress. I don't want Brian to be a bad influence on you." 

Justin laughed again. "Cheer up, Mother. Maybe I'll be a bad influence on _him_." And he went upstairs to bed. 

He didn't go out of his way to talk to or avoid Brian. He just sketched him, shitty line drawings that he balled and tossed every night for being so far from what he saw in his head when he started them. 

Sometimes his mom would stop at Starbucks on her way to the rink, but sometimes there was only time to get the putrid coffee from the vending machine after they got there. 

One morning, he'd just snapped his sketchbook shut and contemplated his empty coffee cup when a vibrant ball of energy catapulted into the seat next to him. "You look like you could use this," Daphne said, a giant Starbucks cup in her hand.

Justin took it from her. "I knew I picked you as my best friend for a reason."

She nodded and blew on the top of her black coffee. "I'm pretty sure the vending machine crap is equal parts toxic sludge and caffeine. I only drink it in emergencies."

"Like having been up too late the night before IMing with your boyfriend to keep your ass from hitting the ice?"

Daphne giggled, and leaned down to tighten her skates. "I broke up with him, by the way."

"Who?"

She heaved a huge sigh. "Glenn."

Justin contemplated her averted face. "How do we feel about that?"

She snapped up her head. "Well, I'm sure _you're_ fine with it. It's not like you _liked_ him or anything…"

He frowned. "I just think he's gay, that's all."

She leaned back in her seat, sipping her coffee. "Probably." She heaved another huge sigh, and slanted her eyes sideways. "I seem to like gay guys. A lot." 

He poked her with his foot and pointed at the ice. "What about him?" 

"Brian? He's hot, but… an asshole."

Justin nodded. "But hot."

"Definitely hot," she agreed.

They watched Brian do the lead-in to his final triple over and over, until Jennifer finally told him to do it. But before he'd even landed it, she was on her cell phone, her back to the ice.

Brian shrugged, skated to the edge of the rink, grabbed a towel, and headed up the stairs towards the locker room. He seemed surprised to see Daphne sitting with Justin, but just said, "What is this, the kiddies' section?"

"Ha ha, Brian," Daphne said. She sounded nervous, but her chin was up. "Nice triple lutz."

"Yeah, well, when I land a quad, you can tell me it's something more than nice."

She stood up; she came to somewhere around Brian's elbow. "Have you ever landed a quadruple lutz?"

He shrugged. "A couple of times. But mostly I land them right on my ass." His eyes flickered to Justin's face. "How's the doodling?"

Justin felt his cheeks get a little hot, but he just shrugged. "Same as ever."

Brian looked from Justin to Daphne, then turned back to the stairs. "Later."

Daphne laughed nervously when he was out of earshot. "I think that's the longest I've ever talked with him."

"Yeah, well," Justin said. "My mom wants you."

He watched Daphne run down the stairs and glide out onto the ice, but he didn't open his sketchbook again that day.

_____________________________________

Brian wanted to throw the alarm clock through the window when it went off the next morning, but he just got up and turned on the shower in his tiny, crappy bathroom. The hot water washed away last night's booze and cigarette smoke, and the flecks of glitter from his skin and hair.

By the time he'd had a triple-shot latte and gotten to the rink, no one looking at him would have known he'd had less than three hours of sleep. No one except Jennifer, who tightened her lips, looked pointedly at his coffee cup, and told him to get his ass out on the ice. 

"And I don't mean that literally," she snapped. "Try to stay on your skates today, just to keep it fresh."

He only fell once, when for some reason he glanced up at the stands to see what Justin was doing.

He passed Daphne coming onto the ice as he got off. She looked annoyingly perky and well-rested. "Hi," he said. 

She looked surprised, but nodded back.

Justin barely reacted when Brian sat down next to him, other than to angle his sketchbook away again. Brian looked at him for a minute; he suddenly realized that Justin wasn't just hiding his sketches because he was shy.

"Is there something wrong with your hand?"

Justin looked almost offended. "No, there's something wrong with my brain."

Brian just waited.

"I got hit in the head with a baseball bat last spring," Justin said, looking down at the ice. 

“I know,” Brian said.

Justin didn’t even look at him. “The fucker who did it got probation." He lifted his hand. "And I lost my admission to PIFA because I can't draw anymore."

Brian reached out and took the sketchbook. Justin didn't stop him.

Every page was the same: A strong upper left field, with powerful outlines and even some detailing, fading out to weak lines and blank space at the bottom of the page, especially on the right.

Brian also noticed more than a few drawings of him, and a couple of Daphne. 

He closed the sketchbook and stood up, holding it out to Justin. "Will it get better?"

Justin took it and shrugged. "They don't know."

Well, Brian thought, not a fucking lot to say to that. But all he said was, "Later."

They didn't talk the next day, or the day after, and on Saturday, Justin wasn't there. 

Brian didn't think about it. He spent the whole day with Jennifer and Cynthia, working on his short program, something he'd tried not to think about all summer because it bored the crap out of him.

With Skate America in a month, he wasn't going to be having too many days off, so he planned on enjoying himself that weekend. He went home after practice, iced his bad knee, and slept for a while. When he woke up, he showered, dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, and went to the diner before heading to Babylon.

The music washed over him like a welcome wave of warm, slightly foul-smelling water: Sweat, sex, lube, booze, men. His favorite fragrance.

He was about to grab one of the almost-naked dancers off the platform nearest him when an oddly familiar voice said his name. He shook his head, wondering if that half-tab of Ecstasy he'd done before he'd left the diner had fucked up his head, but no. It was Justin.

Brian almost laughed, but he managed to layer enough scorn over it that he didn't think Justin noticed. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Justin wasn't fooled. At all. He just grinned. "Looking for you."

Brian shook his head. "Well, now you found me. Go home to your mommy." But he didn't move when Justin stepped closer to him.

"She thinks I'm staying at Daphne's." And he put his hands on Brian's bare upper arms. "Dance with me."

Maybe if Brian had been a little less drunk he'd have said no. Maybe if the music wasn't loud enough that it seemed to pound right through his body, pushing him against Justin, making his cock press against his leg while they danced, Justin's hands slipping up and down his arms... maybe if all that was different, Brian wouldn't have slid his hands up inside the back of Justin's t-shirt and pulled it off over his head.

Justin's skin was hot, and Brian couldn't keep himself from touching it. Their hips were mashed together, Brian's knees bent just a little, while his tongue traced lines across Justin's throat and neck and shoulders.

Glitter started sifting down from the ceiling, and Brian could taste it, metallic and sharp, in his mouth. "Come on," he said, tugging Justin after him and heading for the door.

He was too high to drive, so they took a cab to his apartment. Brian brushed his mouth across Justin's in the back of the cab; it was soft and open, and he slipped his tongue between Justin's lips. 

He was just working his hand inside the loose waistband of Justin's jeans when the cab slammed to a stop in front of his place. Brian laughed and didn't tip the guy, who glared at them before driving away.

"Asshole," Brian said, but he wasn't really angry; the E was still buzzing in his blood, and Justin was pressing against him again, his hands inside Brian's jeans this time.

"Come on," Brian hissed, and pulled Justin in the door and up the stairs. They didn't make it to the bed before Justin was kissing his way down Brian's body, tugging his unbuttoned jeans to the floor. 

Brian jerked with shock when Justin's mouth locked on his cock. His soft lips were firm and slippery at the same time, his fist wrapped around the shaft, sliding with his mouth, his tongue playing with the rim and head in perfect rhythm with the rise and fall of his mouth... fuck. He pulled Justin's hair, tugging him away from his cock, feeling like he was going to come or to fall down, and all he knew was that he didn't want either of those things to happen.

Justin was kneeling in front of him, looking up, eyes dark and slightly knowing, his lips open and and swollen. Brian bent over, tugged him to his feet, nuzzling his neck, and then kissing him, sucking on Justin's tongue like Justin had sucked his cock.

"You liked that." Justin sounded smug.

"Yeah. You're okay at it."

Justin laughed. "What are you okay at, Brian?"

Brian put his hands on the sides of Justin's face, and looked at him, half-smiling. "I think you know what I'm good at."

Justin was breathless. "Do I?"

"I think..." and Brian kissed his jawline... "that's why you came to Babylon tonight."

Justin was breathing hard, and Brian half-walked, half pushed him to the bed in the far corner of the room. 

He didn't think Justin had ever gotten fucked. He couldn't say why he thought that, except that there was something about the way he'd moved against Brian on the dance floor that made him think it. And he didn't roll onto his stomach when Brian pushed him back on the bed, just lay there, legs slightly open, his eyes still dark, lips still swollen.

Brian kissed him, wet and hard, then nuzzled at his hair and neck. "Roll over."

He felt Justin stiffen, and that's when he knew he was right. "Go ahead. It's okay."

And he did; he rolled over, slowly. But Brian just drizzled kisses on his back, licking down his spine, pulling Justin's ass open with his fingers. He touched his tongue to Justin's asshole and heard him gasp, almost laughed as his hips lifted off the bed, following his tongue.

He tugged a pillow over and wedged it under Justin's hips, and spread his thighs with his hands. He tongued him in the smooth space behind his balls, then went back to his hole, flicking his tongue until he felt it open, then sliding it inside. 

Justin's hips moved again, shifting so he was more open, and Brian let his tongue slip in as far as it would go, then wiggled it a little. Justin moved and moaned and said something Brian couldn't understand. Brian kept licking, his fingers playing with Justin's balls, rubbing at the spot behind them with his thumb, his tongue probing and withdrawing while Justin moaned and thrust against the pillow under his hips.

Justin made a low groaning sound, and Brian felt his own balls pull up. He moved away from Justin's ass, and used his hands to urge him over onto his back again. "Don't fucking lie," he said, his voice husky. "Have you ever gotten fucked before?"

There was just a moment's hesitation before he shook his head. He didn't say anything.

"Okay." Brian sat back on his heels, and reached for a condom from the bowl on the bedside table. "Lesson one: Always make the guy wear a condom."

Justin's hand shook a little when Brian gave it to him, but he rolled it down onto his dick pretty well. Lots of practice on bananas in high school health class, Brian figured.

"Lesson two: It's cold, but it heats up." And he squirted about twice the amount of lube he usually liked onto Justin's ass and balls. 

Brian slid his hands under Justin's legs, and pulled them up onto his upper arms, and then his shoulders. 

"Lesson three: Relax." And he rested the head of his dick against Justin's hole. He pushed against it just a little, and felt him tighten up. "I said relax... it's just like my tongue... only much bigger." And he grinned down at him.

Justin looked a little dazed, but he obediently smiled back at Brian while trying to relax. Brian tried to push against the tightness again, and felt the slightest opening. He pressed just a little harder, and almost shouted when Justin clamped down on him. "Relax, relax, relax..." he said, panting.

He waited, and when he felt that slight opening again, he pressed into it. This time he slid the head of his cock all the way in before Justin tightened on him, and this time, it felt... Christ. It felt like pure hot fuck. And he could barely be careful, but he did his best as he went all the way into him.

"It hurts," Justin said, uncertain. "Is it supposed to hurt?"

"A little bit," Brian said. "It gets better... " and then he knew he'd hit Justin's prostate, because he saw the shock and pleasure chase each other across his face.

He did it again, and again, working himself deeper in until he felt his balls slap against Justin's ass, thrusting into him harder and deeper than he'd meant to. But Justin just pulled on his arms and angled himself up, until Brian felt the slow, deep shudders in the body underneath his and knew he was going to come.

The grip of Justin's ass on his cock was painful, but when Justin's cock jerked and started to flood onto both their chests and thighs, Brian's balls pulled up and then he was coming, too, filling the condom inside Justin, pressure and heat spinning out of his balls until he almost couldn't get his breath.

And then he fell down on top of Justin, their hearts hammering against each other.

"Wow," Justin said a few minutes later. "You're right; you're pretty good at that." 

Brian half-laughed and half-grunted, and grabbed the base of the condom. "This is going to hurt a little…" and he pulled out.

He guessed they'd both fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew, his eyes had jerked open because there was someone shouting and thrashing around next to him in bed.

He shook his arm. "Justin," he said. "Wake up. You're…"

The kid's arm flew out and smashed into his face. 

"Fucking hell…" Brian sat up, feeling his cheekbone with the fingers of one hand, and fumbling for the light with the next. "Justin. Wake up."

The thrashing stopped. Justin's face was covered with sweat, and his eyes were staring straight up at the ceiling.

Justin sat up on his elbow. "What…"

"You were having a nightmare," Brian said, watching his face.

Justin shoved his hand through his hair, then let his arm lie across his eyes. "Fuck. I shouldn't have fallen asleep."

Brian stared at him for a minute, not understanding. And then, just like that, he did. But he didn't say anything, just stood up and went into the bathroom to look at his face. 

When he came out, Justin was shoving his legs into his jeans. "I have to go."

Brian frowned. "It's…" he glanced at the clock. "Justin, it's almost 4. You can't go. And didn't you tell me your mom thinks you're at Daphne's?"

Justin paused, but didn't say anything, just stood there with one leg in his jeans.

Brian made his voice a little softer. "Get in bed. I'll take you to Daphne's, or your mom's, in the morning. Let's go back to sleep."

Justin lay down on the edge of the bed, and his body was stiff when Brian tugged his back against him. He just lay there in the dark, listening to Justin breathe, and didn't close his eyes until he heard him sigh into sleep.

____________________________________

Justin had Brian drop him off at the corner near Daphne's house, then called her from his cell phone. She was waiting at the back door near their pool, and they slipped up the stairs to her bedroom without her parents waking up.

"Well?" she said. "Where did you go? What happened?"

Justin let his head hang off the edge of her bed. "I let him fuck me."

"Who? _Brian_? Are you serious?" She sounded half thrilled and half shocked.

Justin sat up, his head spinning from the change in position. "As a heart attack."

She stared at him. "Fuck you, as in, _fuck you_ , or euphemism-fuck you?"

"Stick his dick up my ass." Justin's voice was smug.

"Oh. My. God," she said. "He's so hot! But didn't it hurt?"

He considered. "Yeah, at first." He grinned. "But it was worth it."

"Is he like your boyfriend now?"

Justin shook his head. "No way. After what my fucking father did to the last guy I went out with, I don't think I'll be doing the boyfriend thing again any time soon."

"Please. As if Brian couldn't take your father."

"Probably, but it doesn't matter, anyway. I don't think Brian's boyfriend material."

"If you say so," Daphne said, her voice dubious. Then she brightened. "No practice today. Let's go out to eat."

When they walked into the diner, Debbie was there. "Sunshine! And Daphne, Pittsburgh's future Olympic gold medalist!"

She swiped her towel across a table and handed them menus when they sat down. "The usual sixteen cups of coffee?"

They opted for chocolate milkshakes and fries, leaving Debbie to wander off muttering dire predictions of future obesity and coronary artery disease.

"So, are you going to see him again?"

Justin ate a fry and thought about it. "Well, I'll see him at the ice rink, I guess."

She threw a fry at him. "That's not what I meant."

He grinned. "I know." 

"So, are you going to Skate America with your mom?"

He shook his head. "No money."

Daphne frowned. "Your dad is a fucking jerk."

"Tell me about it." He glumly ate another fry. "I need to get a job."

Debbie paused in her mad rush past their table, two plates balanced on each arm. "Did you say you need a job, Sunshine?"

He nodded, sucking on his milkshake. 

Debbie plunked the plates in front of the guys at the next table, then slid into the booth next to Daphne. "When can you start?"

Justin wiped his mouth. "Are you serious?"

"Sure. The pays lousy but the hours are terrible, so it balances out." She looked him up and down. "Swing that cute little bubble butt, and the tips will make up for it."

Justin looked at Daphne, then at Debbie, and then he nodded. "I'll do it. When do you need me to start?"

Debbie stood up, beaming. "I suppose now would be out of the question?" She laughed at the stricken look he exchanged with Daphne. "I thought so. It's okay, Sunshine, you can start on Monday. 5 AM. But don't worry – you can have all the coffee you can drink."

Jennifer wasn't getting home until late Saturday night, so he stayed at Daphne's and went to the rink with her on Sunday morning. They came through the door, coffee cups in their hands, and Justin saw Brian standing on the ice, bent over with his hands on his thighs and his head hanging down, breathing hard. Jennifer was standing at the edge of the ice, phone at her ear.

Daphne bumped into him, and both their coffees almost went flying. She let her bag drop to the floor instead, and then laughed. "Sorry!"

Brian looked in her direction, then straightened up.

Justin watched him skate. He'd been watching his mom's skaters since he was a little boy. He knew the difference between mediocre and good. He knew what his mother liked, what exasperated her, and what made her utter dire threats to her skaters.

And he knew that Brian was the best skater she'd ever coached. He'd won Nationals the year before, then had to sit out Worlds with an injured knee. But he was back now, and his knee didn't seem to bother him anymore. 

Jennifer had already left his dad when she'd started coaching Brian, so Justin didn't really know when it began or how they met. He knew Debbie's son was Brian's best friend, but Jennifer only met Debbie after he'd gotten bashed, when her PFLAG chapter took turns sitting with Jennifer while she waited for him to come out of his coma. 

Daphne was absorbed in watching Brian skate, and Justin ached to draw her, her tongue peaking out between her lips, her hair tied up on top of her head. He opened his sketchbook and tried, but just like always, he'd barely gotten her outlined when his hand started to shake.

So he just watched. Brian was working on his short program, and he was doing footwork and transitions. 

Daphne shook her head when he fell. "How can he land all those quads and combos, and fall on his footwork?"

Justin shrugged. "Because he doesn't care as much? Because the judges don't care as much?"

She nodded. "Sometimes I think all they want is for the men to jump, jump, jump, and screw the rest. If they didn't need speed to do their jumps, I don't even think they'd do their transitions." 

Jennifer skated out to Brian in the middle of the ice. She talked for a minute, then he nodded once and headed for the edge. 

Daphne jumped up. "My turn. See ya." 

Brian nodded at her, and looked confused when she giggled and said "hi." He stopped when he passed Justin. "Hey."

Justin looked at him for a minute, and smiled. "Hey."

Brian sat down. "How's the hand?"

Justin tensed up. "Okay. The same."

Brian nodded. "Your mom's trying to kill me."

He snorted. "I doubt that. It would be extremely damaging to her career."

Brian raised an eyebrow. "Trust me. She wants me to die. Did you tell her?"

"What, that you fucked me? Are you _insane_? Having a conversation like that with my mother would definitely kill me." Justin looked down at Jennifer, who was glaring at them instead of watching Daphne skate. "It must just be that you're talking to me."

Brian stood up. "Well, let me fix that right away. I'd kind of like to live to get to the Olympics."

Justin laughed. "That's almost two more years. Can you really go that long without me sucking your cock again?"

Brian folded his lips in, but didn't laugh. "You're not _that_ good."

Justin looked smug. "Actually, I am."

Brian laughed. "Yeah, you are. But I suspect I'll survive. Although…" He glanced down at the ice; Jennifer had finally turned back towards the ice and Daphne. "What are you doing right now?"

Justin smiled. "Nothing special."

Brian nodded approvingly. "I can change that."

Fifteen minutes after Brian went to the showers, Justin told his mom he was going out for coffee.

_________________________

Brian had expected Justin would start following him around worshipfully like a puppy, or like Michael. But it didn't happen, mostly because he stopped coming to the rink with Jennifer.

At first Brian thought she was responsible for his absence, and then he thought maybe Justin was just trying to avoid a blow-up with his mom. But when he met Michael for breakfast at the diner after practice one morning, he discovered that Justin had traded in his sketchpad and the ice rink for a busboy's apron and the diner.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Brian said as he turned over his coffee cup.

Justin sloshed coffee into the cup. "Working."

"I can see that. Why?" He stirred sugar into the coffee.

"Duh. I need the money."

"Why? Doesn't your rich daddy pay all your bills?"

Justin just looked at him for a second, then said, "My _rich daddy_ doesn't want to pay his faggot son's bills, no. And he also doesn't want to send his faggot son to art school, although since I'll probably never draw again, I suppose it doesn't matter."

Brian looked at Justin, who was almost vibrating with some emotion he wasn't sure he could identify. There was a little bit of self-pity – which probably went over well with Debbie and might have explained the job – but something that was more than anger and hurt. He wasn't sure what it was, so he just nodded. "I'll have an omelet, with the…"

"Sorry," Justin cut him off. "Betty's your waitress. I'm just the coffee boy." And he flashed him that same insincere smile he'd given the first time they met, and walked off.

Brian was watching his ass in amusement when Debbie stopped at the table. "I saw you talking to Sunshine."

Brian raised an eyebrow. "Sunshine?"

"Justin. And leave him alone."

Brian sipped his coffee. "Too late."

"Of course it is." Debbie sighed. "Well, don't hurt him; he's been hurt enough."

"Would I do that?"

"Without losing a moment's sleep."

Brian gave her a look. "Will anyone in this place bring me an omelet with whole wheat toast, instead of a lecture?"

"Who's lecturing you?" Michael slid into the booth. "Ma, are you lecturing him?"

"Me?" Debbie pulled her order pad back out. "Nah, I just work here. What can I get you, sweetie?"

After she was gone, Michael leaned across the table. "What was that about?"

Brian shrugged. "She was upset that I deflowered the busboy."

Michael sat back. "Justin? You fucked _Justin_?"

"Is there some reason I shouldn't have? Did you _see_ his ass? And you have no idea how good he is at su…"

"Shut up." Michael looked pained. "He's just a kid."

Brian frowned and sipped his coffee. "He's 18. He's college age."

"You know what happened to him."

"What, does getting your head bashed in mean you can't have a sex life?" Brian put his cup down so hard it sloshed coffee onto the table. "Justin's basher gets to take away his autonomy and right to be a fully actualized sexual being along with his ability to draw and his art scholarship?"

"You know, I'm right here." Justin's face was flushed. "Could you fucking shut up, Brian?"

Brian stood up. "Gladly." He dug a few dollars out of his pocket and slammed out the door.

That night, Brian almost went to Babylon, but at the last minute he went to the baths instead. He was pretty sure he wouldn't run into Justin there. Or, for that matter, Michael.

When he walked into the rink the next morning, Jennifer was standing at the entrance to the ice, on her phone. She had the fake polite note in her voice that meant she was talking to someone from the USFSA. He sat on the bench nearest where she was standing.

"Yes, his knee is fine." She listened for several minutes. "I understand. It's not a problem." Silence, then she said, "Believe me; it's not a problem." There was an edge in her voice the second time she said it.

Brian rubbed between his eyes, and she snapped her cell phone shut. "That was Dorinda." He waited. "She wants to make sure you know that the United States Figure Skating Association would very much appreciate it if you would remember to behave yourself between now and the Worlds."

Brian stood up. "Christ, you'd think they'd at least ask about my quad lutz. But no. All they want to talk about is my sex life." He sighed. "So typical of these frustrated suburban housewives."

Jennifer gave him a steely look. "Speaking of your quad lutz…"

Brian looked at her, a pained expression on his face. "I walked right into that, didn't I?"

She smiled, and it wasn't pretty. "Let's see it. And if you have to fall, try to fall in a new and interesting way. I'm tired of seeing you land on your ass."

Brian was so exhausted after practice he crawled home and went to bed every day for the next four days. Between Jennifer trying to murder him on the ice, Cynthia forcing him to take ballet every day instead of three times a week, and an escalated workout routine at the gym, Brian was so tired he was behaving almost as well as Dorinda and the entire USFSA wanted him to.

On Friday morning, he was trying to ignore the burning pain in his thigh and calf muscles when Jennifer called his name. "I have to go to a family wedding tomorrow," she said. "So no practice. But this is the last one we miss before Skate America." Brian nodded, wishing he felt well enough to take advantage of it. He almost didn't even have the strength to jerk off, let along go out and fuck his brains out.

Fortunately, a few hours sleep fixed that. And Babylon was just the way it always was, noisy and crowded. He felt himself relax the minute the music bashed against his ears.

He was grinding crotches with a guy with dark hair and a half-unbuttoned pair of Levis when he saw Justin on the other side of the floor. He was dancing with a bunch of guys around his age, and he was shirtless and covered in glitter.

Brian wondered if Justin had come to the club hoping to see him, knowing Jennifer had canceled practice the next day. Then he laughed. Who the hell knew, maybe this is exactly what Justin was doing every night, spending those tips he was getting from shaking his cute little busboy ass at the degenerates at the Liberty Diner. 

Brian hadn't realized he was walking over there until Justin saw him. His eyes lit up, and he transferred his hands from the shoulders of one of the guys he was dancing with to Brian's. Brian pulled him a little bit away, and looked down into Justin's too-dark eyes.

Justin was almost purring as he rubbed against him, and Brian shook his head. "Who'd you get the E from?"

"Michael's friend Emmett," Justin said, laughing. "Aren't you going to dance with me?"

Brian let Justin pull him into the crowd. "Does your mommy know the perverted crowd you're associating with at the diner?

Justin narrowed his eyes. "I'm 18. I'm old enough to join the army, vote, get married, and decide where I want to work, all on my own." He smiled dazzlingly at Brian. " _And_ know who I want to fuck."

Brian raised an eyebrow. "And where you want to fuck?"

Justin looked at him, clearly interested, and Brian laughed. "Ever been to the backroom?"

"Yes," Justin said with a cheeky grin.

"Liar. You've never been back there."

Justin shrugged. "Sure I have."

Brian looked at him, tongue in his cheek. "How about the baths?" 

"No," Justin said, leaning against him. "I've never been to the baths."

________________________________

Justin let Brian pay his admission and steer him into the locker area, but he slung his own towel around his hips. 

Brian laughed when he saw the way the back dipped down on his ass, and the front pulled tight over his cock. "Don't tell me they teach erotic towel draping in Pennsylvania's high schools these days?" 

Justin stuck his tongue out at Brian, and headed into the hallway ahead of him.

Brian let him stay two steps ahead, and it only took a minute for Justin to slow down, then stop. Brian pulled him back against him, and bent down so his mouth was next to his ear. "Want to go?"

Justin shook his head, looking around. There were men everywhere, sucking and fucking and doing pretty much everything human beings with appendages and orifices could do. 

"Just another night at the baths," Brian said, sounding amused. He put just enough pressure on Justin's shoulders to get him to start moving again, and pushed him gently ahead into a big room with a slightly smaller number of men.

Justin tried to turn around and kiss Brian, but Brian stopped him. He'd pulled off his towel, and now he pulled Justin's off, too, dropping it on the tile bench that ran along one wall. Justin felt Brian's mouth on the back of his neck, and his hand closing on his cock. He let his head fall back against Brian's shoulder, and moaned. 

"I'm going to fuck you," Brian said, his voice almost a growl against Justin's ear; the jerk his cock gave was his only answer.

Condoms and lube were everywhere, and Brian pushed a packet of each into Justin's hand. "Come on," he said, kissing Justin's face and hair. "Hurry up." 

The tile wall was warm under Justin's hands, and he used it to push himself back on Brian's cock when he felt it prodding at his hole. Brian pressed all the way in, slowly, slower than Justin wanted; he took one hand off the wall to reach behind him and try to pull him in faster. 

Two strokes, then three, and Brian was fucking his ass and jerking on his cock, and Justin thought he'd explode if Brian didn't let go of his dick or stop moving that way…

"See that guy over there, with the brown hair and the pierced nipple?"

Justin shook his hair out of his eyes. "What?"

"I said, see that guy over there with the brown hair and pierced tit?"

"Yeah." Brian's hand had loosened, and Justin could almost think again.

"He blew me at Babylon a couple of weeks ago. He was good."

"Not as good as me." It wasn't a question.

Brian laughed. "No, but not bad." He angled his cock a little differently, and Justin closed his eyes while the shock of pleasure pulsed through him. "Ever wondered what it would feel like to have your cock sucked while you get fucked?"

Justin couldn't answer, but the way he moaned and the way his cock swelled against Brian's fingers was enough. Justin thought Brian must have given the guy some kind of secret invisible signal, because he moved over to them and dropped to his knees in front of Justin.

It felt like he'd fantasized it would, endless wet swirling and suction on his cock, Brian's hard dick riding over his prostate, the hard heat of Brian's chest against his back, his arms wrapped around him… Justin exploded into the guy's mouth, his ass clenching on Brian's cock as Brian shot inside him at the same time.

There must have been some other invisible signal, Justin thought, because when he opened his eyes, the guy was gone.

He went home with Brian, and they crammed themselves into his tiny shower. "That place should be shut down by the health department," Brian said, washing Justin's hair vigorously.

Justin laughed. "Then where would you go to fuck?"

Brian shrugged. "There's this janitor's closet next to the locker rooms at the rink…"

"God," Justin said, pushing his head into Brian's fingers, "That's even more disgusting than the baths."

After they showered, Justin hesitated before he got into bed with Brian. "Maybe I should…"

Brian rolled his eyes. "Will you stop being such a drama princess? If you start to flail around and foam at the mouth, I'll wake you up. Now get in." 

Justin settled down next to Brian, but before he fell asleep, he felt Brian pull his back against his chest, and loop one leg over his.

He barely woke up when Brian shook him, just let the nightmare fade away and slipped back to sleep again.

The next morning, Brian wasn't there when Justin woke up. It was weird being in his place without him, and he hadn't left a note or a key or anything indicating where he was, or when he'd be back. So Justin just got back in bed and went to sleep.

He woke up a while later – a lot later, if the sunlight streaming in the window was any indication – with Brian shaking his shoulder. "Christ, Justin, it's after noon."

Justin mumbled and yawned. "Coffee."

Brian pointed him in the direction of the coffeemaker.

"Where did you go?" Justin asked as he poured coffee into both their cups.

"Ballet class and the gym," Brian said.

"I thought you had today off." Justin blew across the surface of his coffee, then took a sip.

"Just from practice." He sighed. "Cynthia is as big a slave driver as your mother. She's practically got me in a tutu."

Justin laughed. "The USFSA wouldn't like that." 

Justin waited for Brian to kick him out, but he never did. They watched television, Brian's leg hooked over Justin's, and when Brian fell asleep on the sofa, they were still tangled together.

The next morning, Brian raised an eyebrow when they got into his car. "Where to? Home? Daphne's? The rink?"

Justin looked at Brian. He was staring straight ahead, fingers tapping impatiently on the steering wheel, his jaw twitching.

"The rink," Justin said suddenly. Brian laughed, and let the tires squeal as he pulled out into the street.

_____________________________

Jennifer didn't say anything. She didn't have to. Her eyes knifed Brian far more effectively than any words could have, but he pretended not to notice. She made him try his quad lutz four times, and he fell four times. He tripled the next one, and waited for her to say something, but all she said was, "Let's try the short program."

Justin and Daphne were sitting in the stands, heads close together, when Brian was done. He stood there, sides heaving, while Jennifer skated over to him with a towel. "I assume you remember that you're supposed to be behaving yourself?" she said as she handed it to him.

Brian took it and rubbed it over his face and hair. "I thought all I had to do to make them happy was have muscles, jump high, skate fast, and not look like a ballerina."

She looked at him, and said, her voice dry, "It would probably also be a good idea not to get your picture taken having sex in the backroom of a gay club."

He gave her a level look. "Or have it get out that I'm fucking my coach's teenage son?"

She looked right back. "That wouldn't be good for your skating career, or for me, or for Justin." And she skated off the ice.

They didn't talk about it again. And the next day, he landed his quadruple lutz. Twice.

Brian met Michael at the diner for a late breakfast. "Hey, Mikey," he said, kissing his cheek and dropping into the booth. 

Michael contemplated him across the table. "You landed your quad."

Brian nodded. "Twice, actually." 

Michael's face broke into a smile. "Congratulations."

"For what?" It was Justin, coffee pot in hand.

"I landed my quad lutz twice," Brian said.

"My mom must have…" the coffee pot started to shake, and Justin set it down, hard, splashing it all over the table. "Fuck."

Michael grabbed some napkins and started mopping it up. Brian didn't take his eyes off Justin's face. "You know, jerking off is the best therapy for improving manual dexterity."

Justin stared at him for a second, then took a breath and gave a shaky laugh. "I'll ask my occupational therapist about it."

When Justin went off to get clean cups, Michael leaned across the table. "You know, you could be a little more sympathetic." 

"Why the fuck should I? I think he's had enough poor little Justin. Sometimes life sucks. Now he knows."

Michael didn't say anything when Justin came up to fill their fresh cups.

A female voice broke the silence. "Mind if I join you?" 

"That depends," Brian said, looking Lindsay up and down. "Is your evil other with you?"

"No," she said, making him scoot over. "Melanie's at a conference in Atlanta." She frowned. "And I wish the two of you would make just the slightest effort to… hi, Justin! How are you doing?"

He poured her a cup of coffee and trotted off, and Brian raised an eyebrow. "Christ, is there no one who doesn't belong to that kid's fan club?"

"Including you," said Michael promptly from across the table.

Lindsay gave him a disapproving look. "You didn't."

Brian stirred more sugar into his coffee. "I did. Repeatedly. Can we change the subject now?"

The diner was busy, so Justin brought over their orders when they were ready.

"How's your drawing, Justin?" Lindsay asked him as he set her plate in front of her.

He shrugged. "The same."

Justin disappeared into the kitchen, and Lindsay shook her head. "He was so talented," she said. "He had a few pieces in the GLC art show when he was still in high school. He has an amazing feel for the human form."

"I've noticed," Brian said.

"Brian!" Lindsay and Michael said it in stereo.

Lindsay glanced over to see if Justin had come back, then lowered her voice. "I was going to suggest to Jennifer that he try one of those new software programs. He'd need a laptop, though – I don't know if they can afford that, and you know his father…"

"Is an asshole," Michael finished.

"I've heard." Brian tore his sugar packet into bits. "What kind of software are you talking about?"

Lindsay ran down what she knew, and when she and Michael left, Brian waited until Justin had a break and sat down with him.

"What would you paint right now, if you could paint anything at all?" Brian asked.

Justin stared at him. "Huh?"

"You heard me." 

Justin just sat there, then he looked out the window. "The rain."

Brian looked out at the irregular auras in the wet air around the street lights. "How do you paint that?" he said.

Justin shrugged. "I don't know. But I want to."

Even after Justin had gone back to work, Brian just sat there for a long time, thinking.

A few nights later, Justin was at Brian's apartment, flipping through the channels on the television. Brian dropped a piece of paper in his lap.

"What's this?" Justin asked, looking at it.

"A computer graphics suite you should look at," Brian said, dropping next to him on the sofa.

Justin slammed the paper onto the coffee table. "Fuck off."

Brian sat up. "What's your problem?"

"I don't need some fucking box of electronic crayons," he said, his voice cracking. "I need my fucking hand to work."

Brian gave a short laugh. "Well, boo hoo, you can't have that. You can have this." He picked up a magazine. "Christ, why do I even bother?"

"I never asked you to bother," Justin snapped. "Just stay out of it."

"Fine," Brian said, turning a page. "Just go crawl home to your mommy and waste your life working at the diner."

Justin got up. "Besides, Brian, how do you think I'm going to afford something like that?"

Brian didn't look up. "I can loan you the money…"

"No…"

 

Brian ignored him. "And you can pay me back out of the busboy money you're currently spending on admission to Babylon and illegal narcotics."

Justin sat down. "I was saving that money for my PIFA tuition."

"You won't need tuition if you can't produce any art," Brian pointed out.

Justin was quiet for a long time. "Where will you get the money?"

Brian shrugged. "The same place I get your mother's vastly over-priced coaching fees. The insurance money from my unlamented father's blessedly early demise." He tossed the magazine down. "Gotta love those union jobs." 

Justin picked up the paper again. "I don't know…"

______________________________

Justin opened the computer in his bedroom, the door closed. He took a deep breath, picked up the stylus, and looked around his room. There was a denim jacket hanging on the back of the door, and he put the stylus against the screen, his right hand cradled with his left, and started to draw.

Four hours later, Jennifer knocked on the door. "Sweetie," she said softly. "Dinner's ready."

"Come in if you want."

She opened the door. He was sitting at his desk, flipping through screens on his new computer.

She knew Brian had bought it for him, even though Justin said he'd done it with his busboy salary. She wasn't an idiot. She knew he hadn't made enough yet to afford this. But she didn't say anything about it. She didn't want to kill the happiness she saw in his eyes. So all she said was, "There's meatloaf. Your favorite."

They sat at the table. "So," she said as they were eating. "Did you decide if you want to come to Skate America with us?"

Justin glanced at her. "I didn't think you wanted me to come with you." He paused. "And Brian."

She smiled, tightly. "It's up to you."

Justin chewed slowly, then swallowed. "I'm going to stay here," he said. "I'm going to try something with this software. And then I'm going to talk to the dean about the spring semester."

She nodded, and stood up. "Can I get you some more salad?"

_______________________________

When Brian got to the rink the next day, Jennifer wasn't on the phone, and she wasn't on the ice, and she wasn't glaring at him while pointing at her watch. She was just sitting, staring out at the smooth surface of the ice, still slick and unmarked from the night before.

Brian sat down next to her, and waited. 

"I remember the first time I smelled the ice," she said. "It was the freshest, sweetest thing I'd ever smelled. I was six years old, and it was Christmas time. My parents had bundled me up in a parka and scarf and hat and mittens, but I didn't need any of it. I wasn't even cold." She shifted her eyes to Brian then. "I lived it, breathed it. I wanted it more than anything in the world."

Brian didn't look away, just turned his lip in for a second. But his voice was level when he spoke. "I don't feel that way about skating." Jennifer started to say something, but he cut her off. "I feel that way about _winning_. That has to be enough." 

She nodded, then changed the subject. "Do you know what Justin said after he was bashed and found out he couldn't use his right hand?" She locked her eyes on his. "He said he wished Chris Hobbes had killed him. He wanted to be dead because he couldn't draw anymore."

Brian felt sick, but he just said, "He can draw."

She shook her head. "Not like he could. Brian, he got into the Pittsburgh Institute of Fine Arts. They admit 70 students a year out of thousands of applicants. Only 25 percent of them come from Pennsylvania. Do you have any idea how good he was?"

"He's not dead," Brian said. "He's using the software. He worked it out. And his hand is getting better all the time."

She laughed, and it was bitter. "Do you know why he's trying again? It's because he found a reason to do it, something he wants to live for."

Brian frowned. "What?"

Jennifer's eyes looked sad. "You."

Brian stared at her for a long time, then stood up and walked away.

Jennifer watched after him, but let him go.


End file.
